


To The Victor

by Palebluedot



Category: Black Sails
Genre: 9/10 dentists agree that this is a tooth-rotting menace, Fluff, I haven't written London in ages and oh man was it fun to give it a shot, Implied Sexual Content, London, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 01:16:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15353016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palebluedot/pseuds/Palebluedot
Summary: "Wait a moment," he says, serious and questioning. "Now that I think of it, there's a logical thread I can't seem to follow — perhaps you could help?"Distrustfully, Thomas asks, "And what might that be?"





	To The Victor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AstronautSquid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstronautSquid/gifts).



"I'm right, aren't I?"

Thomas releases a breath through his nose, feels it puff past his pursed lips. He's held it for some time. The thing is, he's quite run out of things to say, which is an unpleasant realization to arrive at following spending the better part of an hour stalwartly digging in his heels. He'd quite like to continue, but as James has relentlessly stripped away all but the truth, bare as stone, there is nothing left for him to dig his heels _into_ , and trying despite this will only send him sprawling. That indignity, at least, can be prevented.

He sighs again. "So it would seem,"  
he admits, and across the desk, James's eyes alight.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" he laughs.

It's a clever sort of remark, too sharp around its edges for this hot day, when all the world seems dull and heavy — all but James, ever copper-bright, even sweating, his uniform clinging. Especially with that loose strand of hair stuck to his cheek. Thomas is a man who knows himself, his faults, knows that he somewhat too often insists on one perspective even though the betterment of knowledge demands hearing many, and on occasion finding one better than one's own. Knows to brace a little when he repeats, "I said you're _right_ , enjoy it."

James smirks, his eyebrows high, and Thomas can't tell if his surprise is still a mockery. He plucks a bonbon from the box beside his elbow for an excuse to look away without conceding further defeat. "I say," says James before he can eat it. There's nothing particularly paralyzing about the words, but it's _distracting_ , the way he leans back in his chair, raises his arms to rest his head back against his own cupped palms. All rakish charm, that cocksure smile, the spread of his legs. As Thomas watches, at once biting his tongue and wracking his mind for a suitable rejoinder, James's brow furrows, thoughtful. The two elevated chair legs land softly on the rug as James's body bends back towards him.

Thomas knows him too well not to recognize the playact of it all.

"Wait a moment," he says, serious and questioning. "Now that I think of it, there's a logical thread I can't seem to follow — perhaps you could help?"

Distrustfully, Thomas asks, "And what might that be?"

"If I'm right," says James, leaning in, and his voice hangs on Thomas the way the chocolate, soft from the heat, sticks to his fingers, faintly holds their shape, "then just what does that make _you?_ "

It's unlike James to gloat so, it catches Thomas off his guard. Too charmed to be properly irritated and nearly too irritated to be properly charmed, he splutters out, "Oh, hush," and flings the chocolate at James.

It is hardly meant to be a mortal blow. Just a childish, reactionary thing, designed to strike James in the chest or shoulder, give him a moment's satisfaction.

He misses. Or rather, James doesn't.

They stare at each other, united in their shock. Then at the precise moment that James begins to chew, his face crumples, contorts in closed-mouthed, chocolate-muffled laughter, and Thomas can only sit helplessly by and watch his shoulders shake.

"Yes, well," he says ineffectually and with no destination in mind. A rueful grin spreads reluctantly across his face. "How did you — _why_  did you — no, never mind — "

"Oh, love," says James, shaking his head. Triumph looks cut loose and undignified the way James wears it, with that trace of chocolate smeared on his lips. "Today simply isn't your day, is it?"

Thomas spreads his arms wide, hands taut, palms upturned, now quite resigned to more toothless humiliation. He's not _used_  to this, to not only crossing swords with an equal, but so often finding himself disarmed, at the mercy of an opponent who smiles at him with those clever eyes. But of course, naval strategy was never all James had to teach him. " _Hush_ ," Thomas says again, laughing now. Then, a little plaintively, "Come _here_ , would you?"

James stands and obeys, but it doesn't look like obeying, the way he strides over so easily, straddles Thomas's lap and makes himself comfortable there. And oh, Thomas _likes_ this James, love-drunk and brazen, so very far from the man who sat so stiffly in his study that first day, so averse to letting the chair support his full weight. That man was a good man, and flowed so naturally into the James Thomas holds now, but he never would have dreamed of accepting so much as a morsel from Thomas, much less of kissing him with a tongue still coated with expensive, half-wasted chocolate, so near the window — curtains drawn, but still a window, still glass, the edge of their world, here there be monsters — and he _certainly_ wouldn't ever have sunk his _teeth_ into the tender flesh of Thomas's lip.

"Hasn't your mouth," asks Thomas, murmured between kisses, "done enough for one day?"

"A fair point," concedes James lightly. "Perhaps it's time for yours to pull its weight. I've got just the thing to keep it occupied, if you like."

Thomas huffs. " _Have_  you now." He likely does, after kissing close and so intently, and so smugly besides. It's not an unwelcome thought.

"Mmhm," James hums. "Close your eyes." His weight pins Thomas down sweetly, and he smells like the heat, so Thomas rolls his eyes and does as he's bid.

With one rough finger slotted against his chin, James pulls Thomas's unprotesting mouth open wide. After a moment's consideration, he nudges it wider still, and Thomas almost opens his eyes to glare fondly at him. He decides against it, and instead sits there waiting for James to begin things, to perhaps stand, or else guide him to his knees and —

And Thomas _really_ should've seen it coming, the rustling of the box on his desk, that bloom of chocolate on his tongue. "Very funny," he says, eyes open and mouth full, and James, his face pressed against Thomas's, seems to agree. With foreheads touching, noses brushing, Thomas can't see James's smile, but he doesn't have to. He knows its shape by heart, and his stomach lightens at the thought. Lord have mercy, James never gives him a moment's _peace._

It's close to peace, though, the warmth that spreads through him when James buries his laughing mouth in the skin of Thomas's neck and kisses there thoroughly, playfully, when he slides a hand down Thomas's body and pulls expertly at the buttons he finds along the way, lingers there between his thighs. Peace, though his blood roils with it, thrums in his ears. A contradiction, not so out of place where a man who's proven himself to be so very contradictory is concerned. Another contradiction crosses Thomas's mind as he swallows down that damned chocolate, busies himself with buttons of his own — though James has three times bested him in the last handful of minutes, it tastes as sweet as victory.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Regret to inform that you have just read STOLEN PROPERTY — I shamelessly stole this from a message AstronautSquid sent me, which read: "And consider Thomas chucking a bonbon at his lieutenant in outrage over sth and James catches it w his mouth." The idea was just TOO GOOD to resist, but thieves' honor demands that I give credit where it's due. Also, I stole that thieves' honor joke from her too. See, I do take it seriously!
> 
> This was typed up lovingly but hastily on a phone keyboard so if there's any weirdness, that's what I get to blame it on.
> 
> Comments — on this and AstronautSquid's absolutely stunning body of work — are love! <3


End file.
